


Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa

by Sjukdom



Series: Penance & Pain [3]
Category: Gotham (TV), Would You Rather (2012)
Genre: BDSM, Dom/sub, M/M, Rope Bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-24 21:50:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6167935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sjukdom/pseuds/Sjukdom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim went to the church, because it seemed the right thing to do. To confess to a complete stranger and hear that he forgives him. To buy forgiveness like others buy quick handjobs on the streets. Except that Jim's forgiveness appeared to cost much more than that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa

**Author's Note:**

> In this fic I used two quotes from Friedrich Nietzsche's novel "Thus Spoke Zarathustra: A Book for All and None", namely:  
> 1\. "What falleth, that shall one also push!"  
> 2\. “Beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a monster... for when you gaze long into the abyss. The abyss gazes also into you.”

Gotham's Cathedral was like everything else in this city. It looked impressive and seemed to function properly at the first sight, but there was the other side, too, the hidden agenda. The dark side. Jim had stepped there long ago and wasn't very surprised that the Cathedral showed him its own dark side immediately. Will he ever see everything as it seems again? Or was he condemned to know the truth of things for the rest of his life, no matter whether he wants it or not?

Jim went there, because it seemed the right thing to do. To confess to a complete stranger and hear that he forgives him, without much fuss, without the need to discuss everything that happened bitterly and painfully, as would have happened with his nearest and dearest. To buy forgiveness like others buy quick handjobs on the streets. Except that Jim's forgiveness appeared to cost much more than that.

He waited before the Cathedral patiently, spotting the moment, when most people would leave and he could go to the reconciliation room unnoticed. Jim didn't want any rumors at GCPD, where his name and the word “church” would be next to each other in one sentence. In public he still managed to pretend that he believed he did the right thing and the mask helped him to keep the filthy waterfall of his true emotions on the inside. The mask fit him so perfectly that nobody even questioned his state of mind. But if only one single person, no matter who, would start doubting, the waterfall would break free, threatening to drown him in his own dirt.

When he finally went inside, the Cathedral was deserted. It was too hot inside, the smells of sweaty armpits and wax too strong. Tiny candle lights swayed and shivered despite the stillness of the air, as if disturbed by the ghosts Jim carried inside with him. The room seemed empty, too. Jim didn't notice any signs that the other living person occupied the other side of it: no breathing, no rustling of clothes. Yet after he sat heavily on the bench and glanced up he saw the outlines of a human shape, cut in small pieces by wooden bars. And the eyes, full of expectation and amusement, an unusual expression for a priest. 

They exchanged the usual phrases. Jim opened his mouth to begin his confession, but suddenly realized that he had no idea, how he should put the words together. Too bad there were no cliches, telling how one could describe this kind of situation. Before he started to speak, the priest bend down a little, placed his lips against the bars and whispered:

“My name is Julian.”

This confused Jim even more. The stranger he longed for wasn't a stranger anymore. He had a name, he had a voice, he had these eyes that seemed black because of the size of their pupils, little circles of pale blue irises around two dark voids. They were the eyes of a heretic, not a priest. Everything went wrong immediately. Again.

Julian was pleased with the effect his interruption caused. Jim lost his balance as easily as a man standing on the edge of the abyss and ready to fall. What falleth, that shall one also push! And Julian pushed, on and on, until Jim told him his name, his story, which Julian corrected in the way that made Jim squirm on the bench. There was no need for a too much effort, the guilt he felt was enough by itself, Julian just had to frame it nicely and show the result to its bearer. Who eagerly agreed to do everything Julian would ever ask after only one look at it.

Jim fought monsters and didn't notice when he himself became a monster. He gazed into the abyss he made himself only for a moment, but it was long enough for the abyss to gaze also into him. It was intolerable. But it was good to get rid finally of his mask at the same time. And he was grateful to Julian that he didn't only help him to acknowledge things, but also suggested the way to fix them.

At that time Jim didn't care about the price anymore.

***

Every Jim's walk was now a walk of shame. The fact that nobody except Jim himself knew it was of no importance. Perhaps, it made it only more demeaning. Others thought he was the same and he had no courage to tell them the truth, feeling himself like a despicable creature that pretended to be a human. Instead of ripping his shirt open to make them see his true self, Jim only kept on touching up his clothes and fiddling with the buttons of his shirt. Only he knew, what was under it: the ropes, intertwined and knotted around his torso in a curious way that made them stick into his naked flesh like barbed wire, that made them squeeze his chest like a tight corset and leave long red lines across his skin.

Julian handled the ropes expertly to cause as much discomfort as possible. When he finished, he walked a few steps away from Jim, who was kneeling on the floor and admired the view of his naked body strapped up mercilessly, so his flesh looked swollen and was bulging under the tight knots.

“Here's your new uniform, Mr. Policeman”, said Julian with a chuckle. Jim was instructed not to take the ropes off without permission and wear them as long as Julian wanted, but he wasn't told not to show them to anyone. So it was entirely up to him and his courage. As if he would have ever dared to lose face in such a way! Jim changed into fresh clothes only when there was no-one else around and didn't dare even to loosen his collar, when the ropes seemed especially tight. After a few days of wearing them he began to move in a funny way in an attempt to ease the pressure on his body, to prevent rough fiber from rubbing his nipples every time he inhaled. 

Each step he made was of a sinner in chains, exhausted from the endless walk through the raging crowds of his imagination.

***

“Are you sorry?” asked Julian suddenly, when he removed the rest of the ropes carelessly and threw them away. They piled on the floor like a bunch of snakes that had been biting Jim all these days. He was so dizzy from the release that just rubbed the net of scars the ropes left and didn't answer at first. Somehow their absence felt even more painful than the actual wear as if the pain was restrained by them, too. Remembering that Julian didn't like delays, Jim recollected himself.

“Yes”, when Jim looked up, he saw Julian handing him a lash, the monstrous thing with nine tails and the handle of black polished wood. Jim took it, feeling every inch of his brand new crimson scars aching and burning and looked at it blankly, unsure what he was supposed to do with it. The carpet under him began to irritate his bare knees.

“Then show it”, said Julian calmly. He stood back and folded his arms. “Take a good swing. I'll say, when you must stop.”

The thought about lashing himself upon still fresh marks on his back made Jim shiver. He should be shivering at the thought of the things he had done to Oswald. Julian leaned forward, smiling expectantly as if knowing exactly what Jim was thinking of. His pupils dilated , turning his eyes into two pools of darkness, two parts of the one abyss, the abyss that was gazing at Jim right now. Jim sat back, squared his shoulders and took the lash's handle as firmly as he could, though his palms were so sweaty it kept on slipping. 

It made the first slap weak and careless, but anyway the pain, the blazing touch of nine tails, the wet smack of the leather meeting skin forced a groan out of Jim's throat. The hit sent a chain-lightning of pain through the scars covering Jim's back like a shameful brand.

“Harder”, purred Julian softly. “You're a strong man, ain't you?”

Jim wiped his palms dry and took a swing for the second time. He could say it was indeed a good one, because this time the slap made him bend down and gasp.

“Harder, goddamnit, you sissy piece of shit”, Julian hissed, losing his temper immediately. His mood changed as rapidly as his brother's. And the result of these changes was the same.

Jim was allowed to stop much, much later than Julian planned in the first place. After the last slap he bent so low that his sweaty face touched the carpet, breathless, lashes still ringing in his ears like a drumming of a mad percussionist. Julian approached him and raised his chin with the tip of his boot. When Jim steadied himself, he reached out for the lash that Jim dropped on the floor and indicated that he wanted him to open his mouth wider. 

Jim did as he was told to feel the lash's handle being shoved roughly inside his mouth, then inside his throat. He clenched his teeth around the handle reflectively, feeling the first signs of coming nausea. Julian pulled the handle out harshly, almost knocking Jim's teeth out.

“No good”, he said disapprovingly. “I wanted to reward you and take you out to meet Oswald in person so you can show him your repentance, but what's the point if you're unable even to deepthroat him properly? And these teeth – don't you dare to try something like that again. Got it?”

Jim nodded, swallowing hard to prevent himself from throwing up. His throat was sore from the penetration of such a thick and hard object, but the thought of seeing Oswald again seemed to black out most of the pain.

“Let's practice, then”, said Jim hoarsely. “I'll show him, how sorry I am. I'll do it better, I promise.”


End file.
